A Blade of Grass, A Broken Thing
by almaviva47
Summary: Lexa is implanted with a corrupted CHIP that causes her to hear voices and is locked away in a psychiatric ward. Her only contact is her orderly, a young blonde with a stare too intense to remain a mystery. Is she friend or foe? Can Lexa convince her that she isn't crazy? (OR: PsychAU, 99% Clexa interaction, so much beautiful progression of soft Clexa)
1. Chapter 1

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Lexa pressed herself further into the cushioned wall, her whole body sinking into the rough cotton padding as if it could swallow her into oblivion. Her fingers, dirty and raw, compulsively scratched at the cloth that was now tearing from hours of repetitive motion. Her fingernails, she's sure, are ruined. Not that it mattered. Hardly anyone saw her these days, and the ones who do are unlikely to see anything beyond her…illness.

Lexa pushed the left side of her face further into the wall, trying to drown out all the noise in her head with the fervent rhythm of her fingers.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Her cell is square, small, and barren. Every surface is padded but the cold metal floor. The room contains only a simple cot in the corner, a wooden chair, and a chamber pot. There is a light in the center of the ceiling - or at least there was. Lexa was in complete darkness, and she had been for quite some time. _Sensory deprivation_ , the doctor had called it, _the removal of stimuli to induce a more meditative state_. The doctor had insisted that there was literature to support therapeutic benefit of such treatments, and that maybe this new treatment could cure her psychiatric disability.

Maybe. If it weren't for a fact the Lexa wasn't crazy.

Lexa knew exactly what was happening to her. She had been warned from the minute they implanted the chip into the base of her neck. The stories says that the chip was created centuries ago, back before the Skaikru landed, before the launch of the thirteen space stations, even before the destruction of the world. Not much is remembered of that time, and the precious little that was known was passed through verbal lore. It is sentient, they said. It holds power, knowledge, and strength. It was created to enhance not only the mind and body, but also the humanity within each host. It's purpose is to ride the world of it's greatest evil. All good things, surely. But as powerful as the chip is, its code could not escape the corruption of time. The voices of past commanders that were only meant to nudge and encourage grew hyperactive and restless. Whispers of the past leak into the present, plaguing the minds of the current host like an incessant hoard of buzzing wasps. Emotions that were once in symbiosis with the chip became augmented and uncontrolled when triggered. Hosts were prone to outbursts that became more and more difficult to tame.

Lexa bore all of these burdens, fueled by the knowledge of her destiny. She had hid her pains well, concealed her weakness. The only time she ever lost control just happened to be the time she was surrounded by the guard. If she had feared more for her life, she would have lied. She would have found some excuse that sounded plausibly like self-defense. But her pride and lack of self-preservation compelled her to tell the truth.

 _"Death is not the end…_

 _…Death is not the end…_

 _…Death is not the end"_

She is _Heda_ , the latest in a long line of warriors chosen by the Spirit of the first commander. She is destined to rid the world of the greatest evil and unite the people under one Coalition. No one fights her battles but her.

But what did the doctors see? Imaginary voices. Erratic behavior. Delusions of grandeur. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

And now Lexa was here. Alone. With only her voices and memories to keep her company. _Ste jug_ , they whispered. But it was getting harder and harder. The chip already perturbed her mind, and solitary confinement was only making it worse. When the noise that only she could hear got too much to bear, she drowned them out. Sometimes she screamed, sometimes she laughed, now she was scratching.

The door latch sounded. Lexa stilled her fingers, eyes wide and anticipating.

The metal door swung open. Light flooded into the room, revealing the silhouette of her orderly. The new girl, Lexa remembered. She had only been servicing Lexa's cell for the past month (or at least what felt like a month – time was hard to tell when spent in complete darkness). They barely spoke. When they did it could hardly pass as conversation. But the girl was the only person Lexa saw besides the doctor, and the isolation compelled Lexa to crave the little company she could acquire, even if that meant simply observing the girl.

She couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Lexa estimated her age to be around her own at twenty-three, if not slightly younger. She has a round face. Pleasant. Framed by a halo of wavy blonde hair. The cherubic combination made her look younger. Her eyes though - her eyes were the clearest shade of azure, like sapphire, and it gave her a stare with more intensity than a girl her age should have.

She is small, graced with curves that Lexa had wished she possessed back when her problems were trivial and simple. Despite her petite stature, her body exuded strength rather than the expected frailty seen in young women of her age and social status. Her feet were planted firmly beneath her shoulders, back set straight as if energy pulsed from the ground through her spinal column into her head.

Grounded. That's what she was. And Lexa, disoriented and untethered from reality, found comfort in her presence.

The girl stood still at the frame of the door for a few seconds before she made her way to the wooden chair. Her steady footsteps echoed off the metal floor and she placed a plate of food onto the seat.

"Food, Miss Woods," she said.

She lingered momentarily before departing the cell, shutting the door behind her with a resounding thump.

Lexa stared at the door for a few seconds before looking at the meager pieces of bread on the plate. The voices were getting louder again, the distraction no longer occupying her mind.

 _"The living are hungry…_

 _…the living are hungry…_

 _…the living are hungry"_

Lexa turned her head away from the food, pressed her face into the wall, and scratched.

When the orderly returned, Lexa was bundled on her cot. She hadn't moved in several hours, and she had no plans to move any time soon. The blonde stepped into the room, wearing a look that was almost content, only to have it fall when she saw the plate of untouched food. She bent over and took the plate in her hands, releasing an imperceptible sigh. When she straightened, her eyes shifted, striking blue meeting dull green. For a few seconds, the two women stared at each other. The connection communicated no emotion or tangible thoughts, but both women felt the tension that coursed through them. They were two animals stalking each other in a circle, none daring to challenge the other but too curious to back away.

The stare broke too soon. The orderly retreated, severing her connection to Lexa with a boom of the door, the resounding sound echoing more than just the weight of the metal door.

This happened again and again. The blonde arrived with food. Came back to take back the untouched food. Then came back again with another plate of food. Each time, Lexa met her eyes with the same unflinching stare. Each time, the tension mounted higher and higher, pushing against an unseen barrier that existed between them.

Lexa never touched her food. Maybe it was her way of defying the people who kept her locked up here against her will, for not believing in what she knew to be true. Maybe she was punishing herself for her weakness, for letting her emotions take over. Or maybe she was simply depressed. How ironic, to be forced to endure barbaric treatments for an illness she didn't have only to develop one in the process. No, she would not eat. Not even her new orderly could convince her otherwise.

The barrier between the two women broke around the fifth visit.

"You have to eat, Miss."

Silence. A stare. Tension.

"Please eat."

It was not a command, nor was it pleading, but it was insistent. Maybe even sympathetic, but only casually. This was her job after all, Lexa thought. She's probably use to noncompliant patients. Nonetheless, Lexa shivered as the voice coursed through her body. The orderly's voice never rose beyond a gentle volume. She spoke low and husky, the timbres of her voice a strange combination of silky and shiny. Her tone resonating with an intensity as loaded as her stare. It must be the sensory deprivation, Lexa thought. Her body unconsciously craved the company, any company, and it clung to every word the girl uttered.

But Lexa offered nothing but her stare. Silence hung in the air. The blonde left as she always did, but not before pausing at the door. Her back towards Lexa, she turned her head, speaking to her over her shoulder with quite intensity.

"If you don't eat, there will be consequences."

Lexa couldn't move. She gasped and moaned and grunted as hands pried open her clamped jaw. She struggled against the leather belts pinning her body to the chair. Fear coursed through her body, her eyes frantically scouring her surroundings as her body trembled in horrid anticipation. She tried to bite the hand currently holding her mouth open only for her teeth to sink into a thick rubber glove. She cried out in frustration.

"Hand me the tube," the doctor said, tone calculated and apathetic.

Lexa shifted her eyes over as far as she could and caught a glimpse of blonde hair. Her eyes then travelled to the long rubber hose in the orderly's hands. Lexa noticed a funnel attached to one end of the tube. Her eyes grew wide in terror and she began to whimper. She struggled harder against her straps, and as the tube got nearer her whimpers turned into desperate cries.

The doctor fed the tube into Lexa's throat, not bothering to be gentle. The scream that escaped Lexa's throat was abruptly cut off as the tube rammed itself to the back of her throat. Lexa gagged violently, her body heaving and gasping for air as the foreign object forced itself past her throat and down her esophagus. Pain overwhelmed Lexa as the thick tube crawled down at an agonizing pace. Her body coiled as much as the straps allowed her. Her hands clawed at the chair handles. She couldn't breath. Every breath she wheezed struggled to get past her swollen throat. _This must be what dying feels like_.

The doctor reached over and grabbed a pitcher. The pitcher tilted, yellow broth spilling into the funnel and down the hose. Lexa gagged again, her body twitching in agony as her esophageal muscles spasmed involuntarily in an unsuccessful attempt to regurgitate the tube. She coughed painfully as she felt the tepid liquid leak into her body in the most unnatural way.

But just as the torture was nearing too much to bear, Lexa latched onto blue eyes. The blonde was standing nearby, not touching her. Her jaw was clenched, but other than that her face remained blank and passive. Her eyes shone with the same intensity as before, and Lexa tethered herself to that stare as if her life depended on it. Her eyes did not offer any comfort, but Lexa took comfort in them nonetheless.

 _Keep me grounded_ , Lexa pleaded to the pair of blue eyes. _Keep me here a little longer. Keep me strong_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bring me the food."

It was the first words Lexa had spoken in weeks, maybe even months. The words sounded wrong. It took effort to say them, and when she managed to croak them out, the words were harsh and hoarse, nothing like how her voice usually sounded. Her larynx must have been severely bruised by her treatment. Several days has passed since she was brutally subjected to force-feeding at the hands of her doctor. Her throat was swollen and her neck ached with every swallow. Part of Lexa wanted to starve herself still, just to spite the doctor. Fighting was never difficult for her. But them she remembered the desperate connection she clung to in the midst of her torture. How close she had come to losing her tether to reality were it not for the piercing gaze of sapphire eyes.

The same eyes that now looked up at her in surprise. The blonde had never heard Lexa's voice before, let alone had any interaction with her outside of eye contact (which, frankly, unsettled her enough as is). Her voice was rough, no doubt from the treatment the blonde assisted in. It brought her no pleasure, assisting in patient treatments. But a job was a job, and there were precious few available to women like her – young, poor, and left to fend for herself. The girl in front of her looked weak, skin pale and mottled from treatment and lack of sunlight, yet she straightened her back as if she were posed statue. Her chin was tilted up in a regal fashion, accentuated her sharp jaw and high cheekbones, now more prominent from her malnourishment. But even in the harsh lighting, the blonde knew the girl was beautiful. She nearly shivered when she met green eyes the color of fresh blades of grass. Eyes that were looking at her expectantly.

"What?"

"The food, bring it to me."

A pause. A stare.

"No," the blonde frowned. "It's three feet in front of you."

Lexa glanced down. She was sitting in the middle of her cot, back cushioned against the wall. Her legs were drawn up in front of her, her arms propped on knees as she hunched to get a better look. Sure enough, the girl had placed the plate of food on the ground in front of her. She could easily get up and reach it. But Lexa was angry. Her light was always on now, the sensory deprivation having been declared unsuccessful by her doctor. They'd started new treatment for her, some sort of electroshock therapy. Her body ached all over, and her body still twitched from residual spasms. Her mind was a mess. The excess electricity was probably inflicting stress on the chip. It was resilient enough to have lasted several centuries, but clearly that resilience was deteriorating. Lexa wasn't getting better, even though she had nothing to recover from. The light distracted her from sleep, and the chip wasn't helping. She had noticed her mood swinging more erratically these days, and today she was feeling and overwhelming sense of despondency and pettiness.

"I'm tired," Lexa sighed. "They tortured me today."

"I'm not to engage in conversation, Miss."

"Are they listening?"

"…No."

At some point in the conversation, the blonde had taken a seat in the wooden chair opposite Lexa's cot. They continued to stare at each other across the room, green mixing with blue, the tension unaffected by the distance. The blonde sat forward in the chair, her elbows on her knees and she palmed her hands together. Lexa watched her and didn't miss the crinkle of her brow and the twitch of her lip.

The blonde was conflicted. She never took any joy participating in treatments. The procedures were extreme in nature, unforgiving in execution, and unwelcomed by patients. It brought her no pleasure, assisting in patient treatments. But a job was a job, and there were precious few available to women like her – young, poor, and left to fend for herself. But this was science, or so the doctors say, and while her academic education was basic, her sharp intuition was inclined to revere a field that worked so akin to her mind. Science was clever and powerful. It manipulated nature to get results, and if the blonde had found any skill worthwhile in this harsh world, it was the ability to manipulate. There was proof behind the madness, or at least the doctors insisted. And it's not like the blonde knew any better way to rid a malaise that was clearly not microbiotic in nature.

"They don't torture you," the blonde whispered, her forehead still crinkled. "They're making you well."

"You weren't there," Lexa snapped, her voice edged with bitterness and anger. "Not this time at least." She let out a short cruel laugh that tapered into a growl. As pretty as the blonde was, she didn't forget that face staring, unmoving, as her body endured nightmares.

"Bring me the food," Lexa growled.

"No."

"How are they making me well?" Lexa demanded as blue eyes surveyed bruised arms and legs. "The injections never end, the shock treatments grow longer and more brutal. And the questions…"

Lexa pressed her right hand to her temple. Questions were buzzing all around her head. From her doctor. From the past commanders. Words, words, words – they never left her alone. The orderly glanced at her from her chair. She tipped her chin down, as if she were uncomfortable with what she had to say next.

"You're to begin other treatments tomorrow."

Lexa froze. Her fingers stopped massaging her temple as her body turned rigid. She turned to face the orderly, who was now looking down at the ground, unable to hold Lexa's stare.

"What are they?"

The blonde continued to stare at the ground. Silence permeated the room as Lexa waited for a reply. None came. Lexa grew frustrated.

"Bring me the food."

"No."

Blue eyes lifted up from spot on the metal floor to once again connect with green ones. The girl broke the stare and found a new space to look at on the opposite cushioned wall.

"Is it day or night?"

The question came out as a rasp, more vulnerable than Lexa had intended. The voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, which Lexa immediately attributed to her bruised larynx.

Another confused glance from the blonde. "Sorry?"

"The lights and there's no window - Is it day or night?"

Lexa's voice rose in pitch as the question left her, the desperation she had been trying to hold back leaking into her words. The period of uninterrupted brightness was ruining her perception of time, and her mind wasn't strong enough to fight her craving for darkness. Lexa cursed the chip. It was making her weak in front of the pretty girl. She bit her tongue to hold back unwanted tears.

"Which would you prefer it to be?"

"…Night."

"Then it's night."

"…Bring me the food."

"No."

There was a beat where neither of them moved. Then, slowly crawling onto her knees, Lexa slid and slinked off her cot onto the metal floor, not quite near enough to the plate of food. The orderly's eyes widened, her body stiffened at Lexa's movements. She tracked Lexa's body, warily assessing how much danger she posed as the blonde's grip on the chair tightened. Lexa slowly rose into a standing position, like a cobra rising before it strikes. She stood there, as proud and rigid as she could on her trembling limbs. She was far too weak from her treatments, but that wouldn't stop her from challenging the blonde. The girl frustrated her to no end. She seemed concerned towards Lexa's health, and yet she made not move to help Lexa or offer comfort during the force-feeding session. She believed in the treatments, and yet she spoke of them with dread. Was she a coward? Was she a fraud? Was she just like the doctors?

"I'll collapse," Lexa gasped, gauging the girl's reaction.

"No, you won't," the blonde affirmed, but her eyes locked on Lexa's body, waiting for a falter in her stance. The contradiction only spurred Lexa on.

"Bring me the food. Help me!"

"No!" The blonde stressed, establishing eye contact again. Even though her volume barely rose, there was a sense of finality in her voice. Lexa knew the food would remain where it was.

"I've seen you, watched you," the blonde continued, her voice a mixture of admiration and fear. "I know you're strong enough to get it yourself."

Silenced stretched between the two women. Lexa's legs continued to tremble, but she remained upright, her energy surprising even her. The girl was right, and Lexa felt strangely happy to find out that the girl had observed her well enough to know her limits. Lexa's eyes met the blonde's again, her head tilted forward till the light cast a shadow over her eyes.

"Do I scare you?" Lexa asked. "Do you pity me?"

The girl's eyes softened but did not break contact. Sapphire cooled to something warmer, the ocean maybe. But she didn't answer.

"What are the treatments tomorrow?" Lexa asked, softer than before.

The blonde shifted, breaking the stare to look back down at the ground. Her answer was barely above a whisper.

"They call it hydrotherapy."


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke wandered down the halls of the asylum, her footsteps echoing steadily on the dull metal floor. She passed by room after room of padded cells, ignoring the occasional wail and howl from the more active occupants. Clarke, to her increasing concern, was growing accustom to the strange and haunting sounds of the asylum. The halls were all lined with metal walls that creaked and groaned throughout the night, almost as if they were mimicking their human occupants. When she first started working as an orderly not three months ago, she had jumped and flinched at every harsh scratch and thud she heard. Despite having lived alone for most of her life, she had still felt that childhood fear of imaginary creatures that went bump in the night. Now, having been through the monotony of taking food in and out, cleaning the floors, and exchanging chamber pots, she tuned out the cacophony with ease. She didn't know what unsettled her more – that she no longer was disturbed by the anguish noises or that she was too aware that real human beings, not imaginary creatures, were capable of making such sounds.

Perhaps it's for the better, she thought. It's not like Clarke had much of an option of finding another occupation. She was already lucky enough to land this position thanks to her rudimentary knowledge of medicine and caretaking. She had been alone for most of her life. Her father died in a freak accident while attempting to salvage the backup generators in their city. Clarke was five years old, just old enough to hold a foggy memory of him yet too young to hold onto anything but a fantasy version of him. All she had left of him was his broken watch, which he had worn the day he died and still bore the singes on the leathers straps from the lethal electricity that surged through his body. If she focused hard enough, she can just make out his easy smile and his hearty laugh, two things she thinks he did often. Her mother was a physician, one of precious few in her city. When Clarke turned eleven, her mother had led the medical team during a brutal epidemic of the influenza virus that struck in the winter. She perished along with several hundred other victims. Her mother was an unsung hero. She had tried to save her people, and she was lost in the mass grave along with them.

So for the past ten years, Clarke has been fighting to survive. Living would be a generous word to describe her experiences. She eventually found herself in the company of other young stragglers – children who's parents had died or abandoned them, teenagers who had run away from abuse, girls and boys who were desperately trying to avoid the hustlers who could make profit from their young and unused bodies. As one of the older members, Clarke often found herself taking care of the others, using what little money she had left over to feed the younger ones. Her best friend, Raven, would help in other ways. She was a certified genius, but her body was failing her. Often bedridden from episodes of intense spasmic pains, Raven made herself useful by rebuilding mechanical equipment salvaged by the others. Clarke had insisted Raven live with her so that she could keep an eye on her when the pain got too intense. But in all honesty, Clarke wanted Raven around because she relied on the girl's infinite resilience. No matter how desolate things got, the girl never gave up. She never let her anger, sadness, and pain get to her, even when Clarke found it unbearable to watch. When her body failed her, she used her clever brain to push on and fend for the family. Clarke survived off of her strength as if by osmosis. Clarke knew no one else who fought against the darkness quite like Raven.

Well, almost no one else.

Clarke's mind drifted to the brunette in cell 307, as it did more and more often these past weeks. She knew very little about Lexa Woods – nothing about her past, why she was here, or what exactly her illness was. But that didn't stop Clarke's fascination with her. Lexa wasn't like the others. Most patients after a few weeks eventually caved in on their despair. The fight left their bodies, and while they continued to thrash against the treatments, they had long given up hope of ever leaving this godforsaken place. It was their eyes, Clarke noticed. There is a light that is brutally snuffed out in these patients, smothered down by stifling padding and leather straps till there was nothing but a dull shadow staring back at her. But Lexa was different. There was a flame, a spark, in those intense peridot eyes. They brimmed with intelligence, strength, and calculation. While Lexa looked to be no older than twenty-five, her eyes looked far older, full of a pain and wisdom that shouldn't have been possible for a girl her age. They haunted Clarke and made a shiver run through her body every time she connected with them across the cramped padded cell.

Clarke shuddered as she remembered those same eyes piercing her body just the other day when they had their first conversation. She remembered Lexa's body, thin but thrumming with energy, as she stood regally beside her cot. Her commanding presence was unlike anything Clarke had felt before, and like a moth drawn to a flame, she couldn't look away. Despite her best efforts, Clarke couldn't hide her admiration for the woman – after all, they were both survivors, and Clarke recognized her as an equal in spirit, fighting to live another day in a world entire unfair to them. Clarke also couldn't ignore how incredibly beautiful Lexa was – curly unruly auburn waves, arched brows and cheekbones, full lips, slender neck that met strong shoulders. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, she commanded the room like an ethereal warrior from the tales of Valhalla. Clarke's heart sank at seeing such a beautiful creature caged in this hellhole. There must be some truly important reason or illness Lexa possessed, she reasoned. Clarke needed to believe that.

 _This is dangerous,_ Clarke thought. She shouldn't allow herself to sympathize with her patients. It could only lead to disaster. There were people who were depending on her, people who she knew better than Lexa that she couldn't let down. What was that phrase the doctor used? _Head over heart_. "Sometimes the best thing we can do for a patient is what will hurt them the most," she had said. Clarke wonders if her mother would have agreed to a similar sentiment.

Clarke had just entered the main hall, intending on walking towards another set of smaller hallways when she heard what sounded like a waterfall emanating from a set of double doors just behind her on the left. It was followed by the clanking of metal and a few desperate gasps of air. Clarke turned, approaching the doors with caution before peering through the round peephole. Clarke gasped. It was Lexa, bound to the wall by her wrists in almost a crucifix position. She was completely soaked, her thin gown clinging to her trembling body as she struggled against her restraints. Harsh jets of pressurized water coming from an old fire hose sprayed Lexa across her chest, abdomen, and limbs. Lexa turned her head to the side, desperately trying to avoid the worst of the jets that reached her face and gulping air down while she could. Her face was set in a grimace, her eyes scrunched tightly while her mouth was set in a snarl. She gnashed her teeth as she endured pulse after pulse of stinging cold water. Clarke's heart ached, her stomach involuntarily clenching at the disturbing site.

After a few seconds, the jets lessened and Lexa's body slacked. She arched her head towards the center, forehead tilted forward, still breathing heavily and recovering after being pulverized by the hose. She opened her eyes, and Clarke was stunned. Fiery flames glared at an unseen enemy, so alive and full of anger that Clarke could feel the heat of her rage rolling from Lexa's body. It was a glare that promised justice, that promised retribution, that dared to fight back. There was so much spirit in those eyes, and for a moment Clarke wanted those eyes to land on her even if they burned her in the process.

Clarke tore herself away from the door as she heard the hose turn back on. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stand to be there any longer. Maybe she felt disturbed by the brutality of hydrotherapy, maybe she remembered she was still behind on her tasks. Or maybe it was because if she stared any longer at Lexa, she would begin to feel things she really, really shouldn't.

 _Cold. I'm so cold._

Lexa's body shook with violent shivers as she sat hunched in the middle of her cell, a pool of water growing beneath her as it dripped steadily from her sodden hair. She clutched at bent legs, trying to center her body heat and warm herself in any way she could. Her gown was soaked through, the chill of the dripping water settling deep into her bones. They hadn't bothered to dry her off when they dumped her back to her room. Despite Lexa's best efforts her teeth chattered noisily and vigorously, so much so that each breath she inhaled was stuttered and impeded by the trembling of numb lips. Her diaphragm and accessory chest muscles were clenched so tightly as if desperate to hold onto the little warmth her body made, and each deep breath in harder and harder to accomplish without feeling a tightness build up in her chest. Lexa could hardly form a thought outside a primal desire to get warm, to fight out this numbing and searing cold. She barely even registered her cell door opening. It was only after a few seconds till Lexa realized that nothing else was happening. With great effort, Lexa careened her neck to lift her eyes to the door.

Clarke stood, staring and unmoving, with an empty chamber pot in her hand. Her blue eyes were wide with shock as she took in Lexa's shivering form, her jaw slightly ajar as if the sight in front of her left her speechless. This wasn't the ethereal warrior she verbally sparred with nor was she the fiery fighter she witnessed just hours ago. No, this was just a girl, a young woman who had just been kicked and beaten like a dog, who was at her lowest point, who was slowly but surely freezing to death, both in body and soul.

Lexa saw the blonde's brow furrow like before, her eyes briefly flashing with anger as she glanced to the ground and clenched her hand harder against the porcelain bowl. Azure returned to look at Lexa again, her face softening with sympathy even as her mouth continued to grimace. For a strange moment, Lexa felt a wave of warmth spread through her trembling body as she continued to stare at the blonde, taking in the kindness in her eyes despite the hardened face she displayed. Then, as quickly as it came, the warmth disappeared. Before Lexa could register it, the blonde had exchanged the pots and had her back towards Lexa, her hand ready on the door as she made her exit.

"W-wait," Lexa breathed through quivering lips. The blonde froze but did not turn around.

"W-what is your n-name?" Lexa's voice was softer, higher than she anticipated. She had hoped to keep the yearning she felt out of her voice, but she was desperate for that warmth again. If she could only keep the blonde here longer, maybe she'd finally feel something other than the cold.

A short intake of breath came from the blonde before it was abruptly cut off, as if she were about to answer before she stopped herself from saying too much. Her head dipped forward, the blonde hair falling from her shoulders to obscure her face. Her body tensed with internal struggle. The seconds of silences felt like hours. With a heavy sigh, the blonde wrenched the metal door open, leaving briskly as if she could no longer stand to be in the same room as Lexa.

Lexa whimpered pitifully at the loss of warmth in the room. It was silly really, the visceral way Lexa reacted to the blonde. She didn't even know her name, and yet she yearned for her presence like she had scarcely yearned for anything before. Her posture showed the resilience of a fighter, and her presence could easily come equal to Lexa's own commanding energy. Yet her face showed all the nuances of a healer and failed to hide her habitual expressions of quite concern and infinite sympathy. There was a natural beauty to the blonde, with her wavy halo of hair the color of sun and her shining eyes the color of a clear sky. She was an escape from this clammy cold metal box into the outside world, and Lexa, in all her strength and fortitude, found herself weaker in her presence.

Lexa resigned herself to prior state, quivering and trembling as the cold assaulted her again with relentless force. The blonde probably wouldn't be back again until another shift, and Lexa cursed herself for counting the hours. She settled in, trying to remove her mind from reality to pass the monotonous time, curling in around herself as the chill settled around her. She was shocked out of her stupor by the clang of the door latch. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since her last visit. Maybe the doctor wanted another session of treatment? Lexa looked up with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

She was shocked to see the blonde again, her hand clutching a navy blanket. For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other. Then, with hesitant steps, the blonde approached Lexa, stepping closer and closer until the two girls weren't even a foot apart. Lexa looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise and awe. She had come back, and already the world felt warmer.

Clarke slowly crouched down, making herself almost level with Lexa. She could feel the vibrations of the girl's chattering teeth, the stuttering breaths that passed through full lips. Lexa was looking at her as if she'd never seen her before, with a sense of doe-eyed innocence and anticipation. Clarke's heart fluttered at the sight, her eyes staring into Lexa's as she swallowed audibly. Clarke grasped the ends of the blanket in each hand, gingerly reaching around Lexa to hover around her shoulders. She was careful not to touch Lexa, but her face had come within inches of Lexa's. Breaths halted and both girls shivered not entirely from the chilly air. Finally, Clarke's hands dropped the blanket around Lexa's shoulders and tightened it around her neck.

Lexa released a trembling sigh of relief, eyes closing in blissfulness as warmth enveloped her. Lexa's hands clutched at the blanket, pulling it in closer as her body relaxed with content. She was so full of gratification and bliss that by the time she opened her eyes, the blonde had already removed herself from her space. She was standing at the door, her lips lifted slightly in a smirk and eyes slightly crinkled around the corners. Lexa managed to curve the sides of her lips in a slight smile that felt more like a twitching grimace, but she noticed the blonde's eyes light up at her attempt of a grin.

A sudden faraway shout jerked the blonde's attention away from Lexa. She peered down the hall at the unseen source. A flash of panic passed through the blonde's face before turning back to Lexa. The blonde gave her a quick look of remorse before hastily leaving, the door latching behind her. Lexa, stunned at the sudden departure, tugged the blanket closer to her body, relishing the warmth that now no longer abandoned her.


	4. Chapter 4

_The first time it happened, Lexa had already bore the chip for over two years. She had handled the transition well, compartmentalizing the hushed whispers of commanders and the occasional bouts of mood swings with ease. Titus might actually have been right, Lexa thought. Maybe she was different from the previous wielders of the chip. According to her mentor, her past five predecessors succumb to the dangers of the chip, their minds unraveled as reality became harder to distinguish. They exhibited symptoms immediately and died within three years of their implantation._

 _Lexa was sweating and breathing heavily, taking a few seconds between sparring blows with Ontari. While they remained curmudgeonly respectful of each other, they were naturally pitted against each other by fate. Both girls possessed a rare form of hemochromatosis that turned their blood black. Back a hundred years ago, this trait was divine, a spiritual calling to a higher cause. These days it was nothing but a curse, a filthy mutation that caused both of them to be cast out of respectable society to fend for themselves._

 _But somehow, their blood was the perfect solvent for the chip. Titus had given Lexa the honor of bearing the chip first, as she was older and stronger than Ontari. But he had kept Ontari around, insisting that she continue training and conditioning herself. He claimed it was because she had nowhere else to go, but Lexa and Ontari both knew the truth. If Lexa ever showed weakness, Ontari would take her place._

 _Lexa swung her wooden staff at Ontari's head, barely missing her as the other girl slowly tired. Ontari was good, very good in fact - just not as good as Lexa. It wasn't just the fact that Lexa had trained longer than her. The chip sharpened her senses and perfected her movements. She swirled through her stances in their dangerous dance, coiling each move before striking out towards Ontari. Every move Lexa made was as elegant and lethal as a viper. With a snarl, Ontari lunged herself back at Lexa, her anger and frustration making her sloppy as her strikes became more telegraphed. She managed to sneak in one swipe at Lexa, driving her staff into Lexa's nose with a thwack. Blinding pain erupted across Lexa's face, black blood immediately bursting down her mouth. Lexa yelped as she bent forward, catching the small stream of black blood in the palm of her hand._

 _Just as she was about to straighten and shake off the pain, her world suddenly shifted. She wasn't in a dingy underground base, but a brilliant and vibrant forest. There was so much green. There was so much red. Red. Red. Red. Blood was all around her. Bodies of warriors clad in scuffed leather and rusted metal lay all around her. The ground was soaked in blood. She took a shaky step forward and felt her foot sink into the sodden ground with a sickening squish. The scene shifted to another mass field of bodies, burned and blistered as if poisoned by the air. She nearly gagged as the stench of burnt flesh invaded her nose. Her world turned again, and she was now engulfed in fire. Lexa screamed as she felt her own skin start to crack and blister in the heat. Anger. There was so much anger coursing through her body. Fury like nothing she had known before burned in her veins and expelled in her frantic breaths like fire from a dragon. Her world shifted once more. Now, she stood alone, a mass of rabid bodies hurtling towards her – enemies, Reapers. '_ Dead men' _, Lexa added._

 _"Jus drein jus daun…"_

 _The whispers started softly, almost like a silent prayer. Then, like a chorus rising from the hell pits beneath the ground, the chant grew to a cacophonous symphony of blood and fire._

 _"Jus drein jus daun! Jus drein jus daun! JUS DREIN JUS DAUN!"_

 _Lexa clenched the blade in her hand and rushed towards the angry mob, slashing and hacking bodies with the fury of ten thousand warriors. Blood splattered into her eyes and mouth and filled clouded her vision with rusty red. She let out a furious cry with every vengeful thrust, each life she took fueling her forward. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop. Not until every man who ever raised a sword to her people fell to her feet._

 _SLASH._

 _STAB._

 _YELL._

 _"Lexa…"_

 _SLAM._

 _PLUNGE._

 _HACK._

 _"Lexa!"_

 _DIE. DIE. DIE!_

 _"LEXA!" A furious roar tore Lexa away from her alternate reality. She was back at her bunker, Titus gripping her bicep and yanking her back. His eyes were alight with ferocity and horror. Lexa had never seen Titus look at her like that. She suddenly registered the ache and tenderness in her hands and glanced down. They were mottled and covered in black blood. Lexa stared at her shaking hands in horror when her eyes were drawn to a still figure on the floor. Ontari was sprawled on the ground. She was still, far too still. The girl's face was ruined; lacerations from a ring on Lexa's hand littered her face that would surely leave a scar. She was scarcely breathing. A small gurgling noise in the back of her throat was the only indication that she was even alive. Lexa staggered back, aghast at what she had done. She had mauled Ontari. She had pummeled the girl beyond reason, and she had no recollection of it._

 _"I-I don't know…what…" Lexa's mouth felt numb, her words tumbling with effort. "I was somewhere else. There was so much b-blood. I had t-to protect my people…"_

 _Titus grasped Lexa's face between his two hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He searched her face and saw the bewilderment and confusion that raked through her mind. And for the first time, Lexa saw disappointment in his eyes. Her heart dropped at the sight._

 _"Kwelnes," he sighed, his face falling._

 _Releasing Lexa's face, he turned his attention towards the unconscious girl on the floor, abandoning Lexa with her racing thoughts. She clenched her jaws as she worked to control the fear that dropped in her stomach. She placed a stained hand over the back of her neck, feeling the puckered scar where the corrupted chip lay right beneath. It was happening again. The malfunctioning chip was breaking her mind and strewing reality, just like it did to her predecessors. It will rob Lexa of all control over her body and, eventually, it will be the death of her._

 _'No,' Lexa declared, addressing her thoughts directly to the faulty chip. 'I refuse to be weak. You will_ never _hold power over me. I have trained nearly all my life to keep you under control, to use to for the purpose you were created for. I will never stop fighting. Even death will not stop me.'_

 _"I am Heda. I commanded armies of gona for generations, and I_ will _command you."_

Lexa startled as she woke from her dream. They came more often now, probably a product of being cooped up in a cell for the past few months. She cocooned herself further into the warmth of the blanket, lightly groaning as the memory of bloody hands and hakeldema continued to disturb her conscience. She grasped the blanket firmer in her hands and drew the rough material up her body till she could sink her face into navy blue. It was by no means a comfortable blanket. It was made from cheap wooly material that scratched her skin and itched her face, but to Lexa, it might as well have been made of clouds. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of smoke of hearty fires, mint from herbal poultices, and the slightest hint of mechanical oil. It was a strange mixture, yes, but Lexa found it intoxicating. She inhaled again, relishing in the odd sense of comfort she gained from engulfing herself in the blanket. It had been a few blissful days since the blonde had wrapped the blanket around her, and Lexa easily fell into another slumber thinking of nothing else.

She awoke a few hours later, groggily opening her eyes and squinting at the bright light. The first thing she noticed was that she wasn't alone. The pretty girl was back. She sat in the wooden chair and was hunched over like before, her forearms propped on her thighs as she leaned forward. She was unaware of Lexa's wakefulness, apparently too preoccupied with conflicting thoughts that were telegraphed on her face. Her brows were furrowed again, and Lexa amusedly wondered if that was a permanent fixture in her expression. Her eyes were downcast in a way that did not reveal her starting blue eyes. She wore and expression of dread, her hands nervously clutching each other. Lexa shifted in her cot causing azure eyes to shoot up. The blonde's lip twitched when she noticed Lexa, now twisting herself onto her side to face the blonde.

"Hi," Lexa breathed, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Hi," she husked back, voice soft. The sound sent Lexa's heart racing.

The blonde's expression fell again, her whole body a nervous ball of energy. Lexa suddenly grew uneasy. There was something wrong about this conversation, like the blonde wanted to be anywhere but here in this cell with her. Lexa was thoroughly confused, her smile now replaced with pursed lips. The girl stood up from her chair and began to approach Lexa, dragging her feet and wearing the expression of a man approaching a noose. She stopped just a foot away from Lexa and sighed deeply.

"I need the blanket back." Her voice was low and hushed, as if she hoped Lexa hadn't heard her.

Lexa went rigid, her mind suddenly awake.

"What?"

"Please hand me the blanket." Blue eyes avoided Lexa, voice shaking as the girl extended a pale hand towards Lexa.

"Why?" Lexa croaked, feeling the cold clammy sensation of betrayal wash over her.

"You could use it to you hang yourself."

Lexa wanted to cry. "No," she pleaded, a sob nearly escaping her. "I'll freeze to death."

"No, miss, you won't. No one does." The blonde clenched her hands, forcing herself to continue. "Please hand me the blanket."

"Why?"

"In case you ha-"

"No, why did you give it to me?"

The girl closed her eyes and took in a deep breath to steel herself. She hated this. She hated herself for doing this. "You needed it the most." She didn't mention that she had taken it off of her own bed and now shared one blanket with Raven because of it.

Lexa finally let out a sob she was trying so hard to hold back. There was so little fight left in her. They had taken everything from her – her family, her mentor, her purpose. The doctor wouldn't even let her keep a goddamn itchy piece of cloth. The young orderly in front of her, as harsh and cruel as she was just now, was just another pawn in the game. What use was it to fight a pawn when she had not a chance of getting near the queen? Months of fighting hadn't even managed to get her a glimpse of natural sunlight or misty moon glow. She gave into her fatalism, the despair and futility crushing her spirit.

Lexa slowly unclenched hands that were desperately clutching the blanket. She felt the warmth slip from her body as the blanket slid off and into the waiting hands of the blonde. Lexa continued the shake with silent cries.

"I am so sorry," the girl whispered. Lexa heard her swallow back the emotions threatened to overwhelm her voice.

Lexa felt the chip twitch and trigger in her neck. Her reality began to dissolve around. Flashes of a grand bed and candelabras full of dripping candles streamed by. There was face stained with dry blood, beautiful dark curls streaming unruly around a still face. No, not a face – a head. A whole head, and nothing else. There was so much anguish, so much pain. Lexa felt her body clench in response to the onslaught of grief. Lexa could fight the chip, fight the episodes like she had many times since the first. She could shut down her emotion and let her body become void of thought. But she was tired. So, _so_ tired.

And so she let go and embraced the darkness.

Clarke could barely keep herself together. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears as she shakily breathed in and out to compose herself. She stared at the hand that had clutched the blanket, glaring at it as if the limb offended her. She could still hear Lexa silently shaking in the cot with silent sobs, and her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the sound. She had to do it, Clarke reasoned. If she didn't, another would have taken her place, and he or she would have been far less gentle. She hated that she had finally shown Lexa the sympathy she'd yearned to show from the beginning only to so swiftly take it away. Clarke berated herself for being so stupid. She knew in the back of her head when she gave it to Lexa that she would be forced to take back the blanket, but it made her sick to see Lexa in her vulnerable state. Everything about this felt cruel, and her belief in the therapeutic aspect of this place faltered.

In a daze, Clarke stared towards the door of the cell, walking slowly, deliberately, unwilling to leave the grieving girl despite having been the cause of her distress. Just as she reached the door, she noticed that the girl had stopped crying. It was far too quiet, and Clarke turned around just in time to see the girl heading straight towards her, her motions full of purpose. Clarke only had moments to register how blank and unfocused Lexa's eyes were before she felt rough hands grasp at shoulders, wrenching her to the floor with a snarl.

Clarke yelped in surprise as she slammed onto the metal ground, head smacking the ground and pain bursting behind her eyes. Terror filled Clarke as she frantically grabbed at Lexa, who now was straddling her between powerful thighs, trying to push her off. Lexa was so strong, much stronger than she looked. Her lips pulled back snarl revealing teeth set in a clenched jaw. Clarke was overwhelmed as she tried to hold back the feral girl. Nails scratched across her cheek, and Clarke could feel the sting and the welling of blood on her face. As Clark desperately fended off jabs one after the other, she finally looked at Lexa's face.

Something was wrong. Lexa's face loomed only inches from Clarke's. Her eyes were completely empty, the green color dull and void of emotion. A small trickle of black fluid escaped Lexa's nose, serving only to baffle Clarke.

Clarke was losing. She felt two hands enwrap themselves around her neck and begin to squeeze. Her eyes bulged out in panic.

"Please!" She gasped, hands clawing at Lexa's sides in a futile attempt.

"Stop, you…you don't want to do this!"

Her focus began to blur as the edges of her vision darkened. Her hands were growing limp. Her lungs were burning for air. Desperately, with the little energy she had left, Clarke called out to the girl that was slowing killing her.

"Lexa, please!"

Green eyes suddenly dilated. They shifted around, taking in the situation before growing wide in horror. Hands suddenly released their pressure and Clarke took in a desperate breath, coughing spastically as her airway slowly opened back up. Lexa's face was still hovering over Clarke's, and Clarke could see every spectrum of emotion shadow across it. Confusion. Realization. Horror. Pain. Guilt. Green eyes landed on the bleeding scratches across Clarke's cheek and the girl took a sharp inhale. A trembling hand reached out towards Clarke's cheek, tentatively brushing the wound.

Clarke was burning. Her breath came in hard and fast as she realized that Lexa, the real Lexa that was present and aware, was touching her for the first time. Her hand had caressed across her wound like a prayer, or a whisper. The touch was so light and delicate that it was hard to believe that this same hand had just been wrapped around her neck seconds before. Lexa's other hand was still on her neck, but it had softened and traveled to cup the bottom of Clarke's jaw, cradling her face as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Clarke's skin burned beneath Lexa's touch, her body thrumming underneath the girl's weight. Clarke's mind was utterly flustered and confused. One moment, she is in sheer terror of the girl above her. The next, she can't seem to think about anything other than pulling herself closer to the girl and relishing in her touch.

Then suddenly, the fire is gone. Lexa scrambled back and away from Clarke as if she too had been burned. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at Clarke, her face full of shame and guilt. _I did this_ , Clarke thought. _I broke her._ Her own face began to crumble at the thought, and she began to crawl towards the shivering girl.

"It's okay. I'm okay," Clarke reassured, pressing forward.

"Get out," Lexa whimpered.

Clarke froze, her heart sinking. She hesitated before trying to reach out to Lexa again.

"I said get out!" Lexa bellowed, her eyes hurting and pleading.

Clarke, unable to bear being the cause of her pain, complied and slowly exited the room, leaving the girl alone to cry out her anguish alone.

The door latch thumped as Clarke opened the door to cell 307, carrying a bowl of soup in one hand. It had been several days since the incidence with Lexa, and it haunted Clarke day and night. Clarke had every reason to be scared of Lexa, and yet she was more concerned about how she could make right with her. After all, hadn't Clarke instigated this whole mess? She was determined to continue seeing Lexa and repair the damage she had inflicted on the strange and unexplainable connection between the two of them.

She entered the cell and saw Lexa sitting on her bed. She was strapped into a straightjacket, a clear consequence of attacking the working staff. Clarke did notice, however, that her mood seemed lighter than she anticipated, and she took this as a good harbinger of their future. Clarke grabbed the chair beside her and set it by the cot next to Lexa. She sat down, careful not to spill the soup, then pulled out a wooden spoon from her pocket. She dipped it into the soup, carefully drawing in the broth before dabbing the excess using the side of the bowl. Clarke brought the spoon slowly to Lexa's mouth as she watched the girl, noticing the apprehension set deep into her face. Lexa's eyes flitted from the spoon to Clarke and then back to the spoon before she tentatively opened her mouth and accepted the spoon. Gently tipping the handle, Clarke let her take her time swallowing before returning the spoon back to the bowl to refill it.

"How long do I have to wear this?" Lexa asked softly, glancing down at the jacket.

Clarke glanced up, hand stilling mid-scoop. "Until Dr. Mendax decides."

"Decides what?"

"Decides that you're not dangerous."

"I am." Lexa replied casually. Clarke can hear the hint of smugness in her tone. Clarke scoffs, amused with the girl's cockiness.

"What? Don't you think I'm dangerous?" Lexa asked, who seemed both fascinated and confused at Clarke's seemingly nonchalant reaction towards her considering the events that transpired.

Clarke was silent for a minute, remembering hands on her neck and dull green eyes. "I think you're ill."

"I'm not ill," Lexa snapped. She took in sharp breath before glancing at Clarke and noticing the still healing wounds on her cheek. Clarke saw a flash of pain and regret in her green eyes.

"I'm sorry about your face," Lexa whispered, voice quiet with remorse as her eyes glanced up at Clarke's before falling to her lap.

Clarke chuckled, tilting her head towards the jacket. "Well, we'll have no more of that."

Lexa smirked and let out a little grunt, quick to catch Clarke's playful tone. "No, no more of that," she confirmed. "I've no fight left in me." Clarke hummed in response, her expression unreadable. She brought another spoonful of soup to Lexa.

"They tell me this isn't torture, its science," Clarke hesitated before continuing. "It's meant to make you better."

"It's meant to make me normal," Lexa retorted. "They want compliance, obedience, a cog in an intricate machine, no more."

"Not all the people I know are cogs," Clarke countered, thinking of Raven and her mother. "Far from it."

"Then they are freaks."

"I am not a freak and I am not a cog," Clarke glared, sparks lighting up her eyes. "I have grown up with the world against me. I manipulated, deceived, and fought my way to where I am." She remembered the blanket and all that unfolded. "I too have acted against the will of others and suffered the consequences. Tell me, do you think I am just a cog?"

Lexa took in the quiet fury blazing in sapphire eyes, her face softened as she registered the Clarke's words. Lexa sighed and resigned herself to letting the argument die down, accepting that she had perhaps misjudged her. A small swell of pride welled in Clarke as she realized she had shaken Lexa's pessimistic outlook. She raised the spoon to Lexa again, but Lexa refused, her face starting to crumble.

"I have failed," Lexa whimpered, her voice full of defeat. Clarke looks at her and shakes her head. "No you haven't," she reassured.

"Yes I have, the reincarnation stops with me. I am not _Heda_ Lexa here. I cannot serve my people and bring peace from a padded cell. I am no one. I have no name. I have lost my purpose."

"Do you want a purpose?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm doing it," Clarke replied, bringing another spoon to Lexa and offers a small smile. Lexa blinked rapidly, looking at her with wonder. She wordlessly takes the spoonful of broth before her eyes glanced to the side, her body fidgeting. Softly, almost so softly that Clarke doesn't hear, Lexa spoke.

"Is it day or night?"

Clarke looked at her, eyes kind and understanding. "Which do you prefer now?"

"…day."

"Then it's day."

Lexa returned her glance as she peers into soft blue eyes. Her face grew soft, making her look so young and beautiful that Clarke's chest ached. Lexa's eyes burn with yearning when she next speaks.

"What's your name?"

Clarke bit her tongue, stopping herself from giving into her overwhelming desire to answer and instead provided a stilted response. "It's against regulations to reveal names." Clarke had already broken the girl once by breaking the rules, she wasn't going to let it happen again.

"You already know my name."

"I thought you said you had no name."

"I was being…dramatic," Lexa replied, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Poetic."

Clarke stared at the flustered girl, and she managed to squeak out a sound of affirmation.

"I only had a few books around me when I was growing up, and they were all either poetry or history," Lexa reminisced. "Do you like poetry?"

"Huh, no."

"What do you like, then?"

Clarke swirled the spoon in the soup, making abstract line in the liquid that disappeared seconds after. "I draw," she whispered.

Lexa hummed with approval, her eyes smiling. She accepted a few more spoonfuls.

"You must get better, Lexa," Clarke urged, her hands stilling. "The treatments, they…they don't get easier."

"What do you mean?"

Clarke looked at Lexa with growing dread. "They get worse."

"How?" Lexa demanded, her voice low and husked.

Clarke stared at Lexa, her mouth hanging open as she struggles to respond. A few seconds pass before she finds her voice again. "Just get better, eh?" She closed her lips tightly and offered a weak smile.

"If I'm not truly ill, how can I get better?" Lexa asked, voice bitter.

"If you're not ill, then what are you?" Clarke's brows scrunch in confusion.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Dr. Mendax doesn't, and why should she?"

Lexa took in a shuddering breath. "I have been chosen, cursed, if you will, the bear the spirit of the commander. My purpose, like the ones who came before me, is to unite the people and rid the world of its greatest evil." She gently touches the back of her neck along the scar. "I am _Heda_ Lexa, I hold the legacy of Becca _Primheda_ , and it shall continue even after my death. But I failed. My weakness allowed it. I didn't fight it strong enough and I allowed myself to succumb to the corruptions of the flame. I don't know if I fight it at all anymore."

Clarke remained silent, unsure how to respond. It all sounded rightfully insane – spirits, reincarnation, an unknown language. And yet she could not doubt Lexa's sanity like she could with others. Clarke had witnessed lunacy of that kind before, and their stories never stay consistent. Lexa was too strong, too present to be under the influence of hallucinations. Lexa's story was…unusual, that was sure, but there was a tone of sincerity and convicting in her tale that made Clarke question her rationality.

Clarke diverted her attention away from legacies and piercing green eyes, returning back to her task at hand with the soup. She brought the spoon back up to Lexa, trying to change the subject.

"I do this for my best friend when she's sick," Clarke said as she gestures with her spoon, letting a small chuckle slip from her. "She says she hates being coddled, but secretly I think she loves it." Lexa glanced at her with wide eyes, still surprised that Clarke hasn't run away after her confession.

"She's brilliant, my friend," Clarke continued, her face stuck between fondness and sadness. "She's not well. She has Guillain-Barre Syndrome. She has bouts of severe pain and weakness in her legs that leave her stuck in bed all day. They think it was triggered after a bad infection." Lexa doesn't stop looking at her, curiosity lingering on her face.

Clarke looked down at the spoon in her hand. "I used a metal spoon at first, but it hurt her mouth so we switched to a wooden one."

"I'm surprised they have wooden spoons here," Lexa remarked.

"Oh, I brought this one from home," Clarke replied absentmindedly. It was only after she raised the spoon again did she notice Lexa staring at her, eyes wide with awe.

"What's your friends name?"

Clarke hesitated again, knowing full well she should not cross this boundary. But then she connected with iridescent green eyes that looked at her with such wonder that it nearly took her breath away. "Raven," she whispered.

Lexa's eyes shimmered with emotion as her face filled with gratitude. What Clarke wouldn't do to see that face permanently. Then she remembers the treatments, and her chest clenched with worry.

"You must get better," Clarke urged again, eyes pleading. "Please?"

Lexa's face in unreadable. Clarke left the chair and approached the door, feeling eyes following her the entire time. Her hand was on the door when she stops, exhaling loudly.

"Clarke," she breathed, turning her head over her shoulders.

"What?"

"My name. It's Clarke."

She glanced over her shoulders and saw Lexa's body tense before relaxing, her face again full of wonder. "Clarke," Lexa parroted. Clarke shivered with the way her name rolls so beautifully, so _naturally_ , off her tongue. Her blue eyes softened as she took in the growing smile stretched across full lips.

"Goodnight, Lexa."

Clarke made her exit, shutting the door gentle behind her. But not before getting one last glance at the girl on the cot.

Alone in the cell, Lexa shivers as she whispered -

" _Reshop_ , Clarke."


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke sighed heavily as she cracked open the door to her home, her keys jingling limply in her hand as she crept into the cramped space. Exhaustion seeped through every fiber of her being. The dawn was just breaking over the horizon - a beautiful mixture of lavender, pink, and blue layered the sky just beyond the small dirty window in the corner. Beyond the walls, she could hear the rustle of the early risers readying themselves for the start of another day. Clarke, however, was just finishing her day. She had begun taking more night shifts in the past few weeks, and just like the stars that shone in the evening, she was ready to retire to a lumpy bed until her next shift in just a couple of hours. Clarke's mind felt fuzzy. She felt unfocused, her body buzzing with a strange energy as she took note of her elevated heart rate. The logical side of Clarke deduced that her state was most likely due to a combination of exhaustion and dehydration. In spite of her usually trustworthy rationality, Clarke had a hard time ignoring the persistent bug of a thought that maybe, just maybe, she was affected by something – or someone – else.

Truth be told, Clarke had taken more night shifts not just because they paid marginally better, but also because they offered more flexibility in her schedule. There was less work to do, which meant less supervision from her superiors, fewer patients to look after, and more time to spend with one particular girl. Clarke grew warm thinking about a certain green-eyed brunette, remember how wavy hair framed high cheekbones and full rosy lips, how she would gaze at Clarke through hooded eyes behind a passive expression. Clarke would almost assume Lexa was bored were it not for the intense energy that crackled with life behind shades of emerald each time Clarke dared to look back. She scolded herself for being so predictably infatuated by a pretty face (yes, infatuated – because Clarke at this point had grown tired of fighting with herself over a clearly lost battle). Clarke couldn't explain it, but ever since she had talked, honestly talked, with Lexa, she couldn't stop thinking about the girl. There was an inexorable pull that compelled Clarke to be around her. Was it for companionship? Was it to absolve her residual guilt? Or was it because whenever Clarke was with Lexa, she could forget everything - the fighting, the hunger, the pain - outside of that stark white cell? Every time she looked into those eyes, it was as if she had found a kindred spirit who somehow understood what one becomes when she fights all her life to survive.

Or maybe it was the way Lexa's face visibly brightens when Clarke arrives, or the feeling of their fingers brushing when they exchange plates, or the way they gaze into each other's eyes just slightly too long to be strictly friendly. Maybe it's the way Lexa sneaked in her name in their conversation at every opportunity.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Thank you, Clarke."

"How are you, Clarke?"

"Goodnight, Clarke."

"I'm trying, Clarke."

"Clarke, is it day or night?"

Each time, full lips would wrap around her name like an embrace, her soft voice holding a tone of reverence heard more often in prayer than in a simple greeting. Lexa would always punctuate the end of her name with a click as if not doing so would seem lazy on her part, and it amused Clarke to no end. Clarke returned the favor as much as possible, relinquishing rules and addressing Lexa by her first name, letting her tongue wrap around the simple and beautiful name as if she had been saying it her whole life. She lived for the way Lexa responded to it with widened eyes and a subtle stutter to her breath, just as how Clarke herself responded with a fluttering heart and pooling warmth in the pit of her abdomen.

The moments they shared, as frequent as they were now, did not go beyond what was familiar. They filled the silence with casual greetings, fleeting smiles, and glances that often spoke more than simple words alone. With Clarke taking more nightshifts, she was able to stay with Lexa for longer periods of times, sharing what was normally a comfortable silence as if the presence of the other offered enough comfort to keep them both content. They both refused to acknowledge the budding tension that grew with each passing minute and instead fueled their already heated glances and touches with even more unfulfilled longing. Every brush of skin burned as if licked by flames, every look blazed with unnamed emotion.

They developed a routine of sorts. Clarke came into Lexa's room after she had finished all her main duties and was no longer obligated to leave save for the occasional request from outside. To pass the time, Clarke brought her sketchbook, absentmindedly sketching things that had caught her eye throughout the day – the intricate pattern of ceiling pipes above the basement, the shadow of a lamppost on the cement ground outside her building, the clunky machinery Raven tinkered with the night before. Soon, Clarke found herself shifting to subjects that occupied her mind more and more often. Pages began to appear occupied by a pair of elegant hands. Some posed in relaxed positions with long thin fingers draped over the other or caressing the surface of the page. Some depicted the hands in various states of action – a clenched fist in the midst of an uppercut, a firm open hand with the palm faced forward and held high with authority, or sometimes it was entwined with the hand of another, clasped tightly as if they would never let go. Other pages spawned sketches of toned arms, sculpted backs, the full curves of lips drawn carefully down to the points of the Cupid's bow on the top lip. Sometimes, Clarke would find eyes staring back at her that were far too lifelike to have been conjured purely from imagination.

It did not help that Lexa herself had found a way to keep busy that only served to fuel Clarke's sudden prolific sketches. For hours, Lexa would move through a series of motions that Clarke deduced must be related to some fighting style. But it must have been the most elegant form of fighting that ever existed, as Clarke swore Lexa _danced_ as she shifted from position to position. Her arms swept gracefully with precision and energy, her legs extending out to map out intricate footing before stepping precisely into the next position. She crouched, leaned, and extended her body, coiling and uncoiling effortlessly in a never-ending dance. Every motion was completely controlled, and power rolled off of every limb even as Lexa kept the rhythm of her motions slow. There was a serenity and sense of familiarity that emanated off of Lexa as she inhaled and exhaled deeply with each position, eyes sliding shut in concentration. Seeing Lexa act as if she were no longer in that cramped cell, as if she were _safe_ , only made the warmth in Clarke's chest blossom and her pencil scratching.

Despite the warnings, Clarke came to Lexa every night with her blanket in hand, having grabbed it from either the storage station or from home after washing it weekly. Clarke had long forgotten, rather purposefully, the consequences both she and Lexa would face should she disobey strict orders. She choose rather to focus on how her heart thrummed when elegant hands clutch eagerly around the blanket's edge each time Clarke wrapped it around the girl's shoulders, just like she had the first night. Initially, when Clarke had so painfully confiscated the blanket from Lexa, she had done it mainly because she had fear for Lexa's own safety. She had not known Lexa then as she did now. She had not known how strong Lexa was and how uncharacteristic it would be for her to give up in such a desperate way. She had not known how much her act of kindness had meant to Lexa, how much _she_ had meant to Lexa, and how much it would break her to take that from her. All Clarke had seen was how much pain and suffering was etched deep into her eyes that Lexa would only continue to experience with the treatments. She had wanted to protect Lexa, to keep her safe, even if that meant from herself.

Now, after having seen the Lexa's beautiful face streaked with tears and completely besotted with heartbreak, Clarke vowed she would do anything, _anything_ , to never see that face again. If that meant sneaking around the facility to bring Lexa a blanket every night, she would do it. Hell, she would bring Lexa one hundred fur pelts every night for the next ten years if that meant making Lexa more comfortable. Damn the rules. Damn the whole institution. Clarke could not longer defend a place that enforced such draconian measures that seemed to be as ineffectual as it was barbaric.

She had tried to convince herself that her lack of real knowledge on psychotherapy prevented her from seeing the improvement that were promised by the facility. But after the hours she spent with Lexa marveling the defiance, intelligence, and kindness that sparkled in her eyes, seeing that spark nearly taken away after every relentless session of hydrotherapy, electroshock, and sensory deprivation was too much for Clarke to stomach. Nothing could justify that. Nothing.

So, here Clarke was after another exhausting night shift. Moving around the cramped space, she reached into her bag and pulled out the blanket. She intended to wash it today and thus took it out from it's usually home back at the facility. Clarke was distracted, not missing how her stomach rolled uncomfortably. She was worried about Lexa. Right after Clarke's shift ended, she noticed orderlies enter Lexa's cells. One of the orderlies was carrying a pair of leather manacles. She was getting another treatment today, maybe even suffering through it as Clarke stood now in her room.

Lexa had already shown signs that she was unwell today, having had a splitting headache and a nosebleed that leaked dark liquid down her face. Worry gnawed her insides and it only made the pit in her stomach grow. Is Lexa getting treatment right now? Is she in pain? Does she feel alone? The barrage of questions plaguing Clarke only stopped when she heard a rustle of sheets and saw the lump underneath them stir.

"You know, even if I wasn't a light sleeper, I would probably still wake up thanks to your pacing," Raven's groaned, her voice scratchy and thick with sleep. The lump kept shifting until a tired and grumpy face poked out from beneath the blanket. Dark brown hair was sticking out from Raven's head in every direction as hazel eyes squinted to adjust to the growing brightness in the room. Clarke shot her an apologetic look that looked far too practiced, which only made Raven huff exaggeratedly. Her eyes landed on the ragged blanket still clutched in Clarke's hand.

"Well, at least you finally managed to find your blanket again," Raven murmured, already a hint of a tease in her voice despite the early hour of the day. "I know I'm a hot commodity in these neck of the woods, but this whole 'cuddling and sharing a blanket with me' thing is starting to look desperate."

Now it was Clarke's turn to let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as her best friend stretched her arms out from beneath the blanket and sniggered lightly at Clarke's display.

"In case you need a reminder, I like breakfast in bed and daily backrubs," Raven continued in a singsong voice. "I'm a hard woman to please," she added, not before sending a wink and quirking an eyebrow in Clarke's direction.

Clarke was just about to reply with her own snide comment when she noticed Raven's face had suddenly paled. Raven's lips were twitched in a small grimace as teeth ground against each other, her face masking what was clearly another painful episode of flaring nerves. One of her hands clutched at the bed sheets near her head while the other reached down to grasp at her left thigh. Clarke's words died in her mouth and her face set with a concerned frown. She quickly dropped her bag while still holding onto the blanket and moved to get the pitcher of steaming water that currently sat on the stove. She poured out a generous amount into the nearby hot water bag, avoiding any splashes with practiced skill. When the bag was full and properly sealed, Clarke moved back to Raven, who was busy controlling her breathing in an effort to deal with the pain. Clarke plopped down next to Raven, gently guiding her up from the bed and placing the hot bag under her lower spine where the origin of the nerve spasm was located, then gently guiding her back down onto the bed. She took the blanket that was still in her hand and draped it over Raven, making sure to tuck in the edges just like her mother used to do when she was still alive.

"Trust me, I know all too well," Clarke reminded, her voice laced with amusement but failed to hide the sadness behind the words. Raven hummed in response as the warmth seeped from the water bag to her back, her eyes closing as she registered the slow but steady alleviation of her pain. After a few minutes, Raven reopened them to see tired blue eyes still trained on her, comfort and care resonating just as strongly as the first time Clarke took care of her. Raven's heart swelled at the display, remembering again just how grateful and lucky she was to have Clarke as a friend.

Raven reached out her right hand to lie gently on Clarke's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Another hard night?"

Clarke let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, long and exhausting as always."

"And it has nothing to do with that mysterious girl you've been crushing on for the past month?"

Clarke blushed furiously, trying her best not to look flustered and simultaneously recalling all recent interactions with Raven to determine if her thoughts were really _that_ transparent. "W-No! I mean, what gave you tha-"

"Oh come on Clarke, I'm your best friend of nearly a decade," Raven interjected, waving her right hand dismissively before landing back on Clarke's hand. "Ever since you told me about her you've been acting differently – not in a bad way! Just different. The extra nightshifts, your suddenly rejuvenated artistic side, and sometimes I catch you just staring off lost in thought."

Raven shifted up so that her head was propped higher on the pillow. Just as Clarke was about to respond, she raised her hand up to stop her. "Oh, and don't even get me started on this blanket," Raven gestures to the navy blanket covering her body. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I never pegged you as the type of person who sleeps on the job. And considering the fact that removing this blanket meant less warmth for you and me, I'm guessing that the reason behind it is pretty important."

Clarke, who by now must have a face the shade of a tomato, remained silent. Raven chuckled softly before grasping onto Clarke's hand again, her voice now quiet and removed of sarcasm. "How is she?"

Clarke's body deflated with another heavy sigh, which seemed like the only thing she was ever doing these days. She flipped her hand over, returning the gentle squeeze with one of her own while she thought of a proper answer.

"She...she's managing," Clarke replied, the uneasiness returning to settle at the bottom of her stomach. "She's still Lexa, still the person who she was when she came in. It's impressive really, the fight she's put up against the facility. Most of the people I take care of lose themselves so quickly. You'd be surprised how easily the human spirit can break in a place like that. But Lexa, she's still as stubborn and determined as the first day I met her. Remind you of anyone?"

"Huh, I'm sure she's a handful."

"Understatement of the year," Clarke said, poking Raven playfully in the side. "Still, as frustrating as she can be, I think that's what drew me, what keeps drawing me to her. She's probably at the lowest point in her life right now, and yet she still holds her head high with purpose and dignity. That's the reason why people are afraid of her. She unsettles them, and they keep her locked up because of that. But she doesn't belong there any more than you or I do. I just keep thinking back to right before we met, after my mother passed and I had been scrambling on the streets to survive. I was nearly feral, rage burning through every waking moment, driven to that state out of desperation. I could have easily been locked up just like her. But I wasn't insane, and neither is she. Seeing her go through what she has to just because refused to stay down when life beat her to the ground hurts me more than I can rationalize."

Clarke closed her eyes with a shaky breath, her voice beginning to wobble with emotion with every word she utters.

"And the worst part is, as hard as Lexa fights against her demons, she is _losing_. I see it in her eyes. That fire, that intensity that always burns in those eyes, it dims every time she comes back from treatment, and every day it gets harder and harder for her to get that spark back."

Clarke began to feel her eyes gather with wetness that threatens to spill over. She swallowed audibly, as if that could somehow swallow the emotions she was failing to hide.

"I…" another swallow. "I care about her. I care about her a lot, more than I think is safe or reasonable. I try to do my part to help her – I stay with her, offer what company and kindness I can. That's why I've taken on more nightshifts these past few weeks. I like to think me being there offers her a sense of reality, a method to keep her grounded and focused on getting better and getting out of that godforsaken place. But I don't know if that's enough to protect her, and it kills me because I don't know what else I can do."

Unable to keep the despondency out of her voice, Clarke clamped her jaw tightly and sealed her lips, afraid of what might come out of her if she kept going. She dipped her chin down and lowers her eyes to avoid looking at Raven, who had been stroking her hand in comfort the entire time. Silence fell over them, heavy and thick from Clarke's confession. Finally, Raven reached out and gently tipped Clarke's chin so that their eyes met.

"Clarke," Raven softly spoke, eyes tender with emotion of her own. "Trust me when I say that you are doing so much more than you realize. It baffles me sometimes that you don't know how _good_ you are, how stunningly and exquisitely _good_ you are at your core. You always put the people you care about first, and you are willing to put their needs above your own even at the cost of your own. Coming from someone who has been on the receiving end of this kindness for years, I am completely serious when I say that sometimes the fact that you were there for me was the only way I could get through the bad days. You fought for me when I couldn't, and Lexa needs that kind of comfort more than ever."

Raven smiled at Clarke, a tease creeping back to her voice. "Keep doing what you're doing, Griffin. Saving lives runs in your blood."

Wiping her face of newly sprung tears, Clarke let out a soggy laugh, comforted that Raven knew how much her mother was a source of pride for her and knowing it would make her feel better. She let Raven's words run over her and settle the unruliness in her stomach. Clarke moved around Raven until she settled comfortably behind her, grabbing the blankets so that they draped around them both. The familiar position calmed Clarke, and she dug her head so that her forehead rested just behind Raven's shoulder.

"Do you remember what tomorrow is?" Raven whispered. Clarke nods against her.

"Maybe you should do something for Lexa."

Clarke hummed in response, remaining silent for a while. She nearly lost herself in the scent of the blanket and the exhaustion that nearly completely took over her mind. Just as she was about to drift from consciousness, she remembered a thought she had meant to revisit.

"Raven, do you still have that old book you stole from Jaha back when we lived in the streets?"

"Hm, yeah I think so. And I didn't steal it, I borrowed it."

"Raven, you and I were pickpockets. Let's not sugar-coat it."

"Fine, but we were really good pickpockets. I reckon it's not called stealing when you never get caught."

"Semantics. Back to the point – you have the book? Could I borrow it?"

"Sure, yeah. But since when did you fancy the Bard and the like?"

"Just curious," Clarke replied before inhaling deeply, her nose buried in the navy blanket. She fell asleep comforted by the smell of pines and earth and the memory of eyes the color of fresh green grass.


End file.
